


Right Here, Trying

by subversivegrrl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: What might have happened during the hours before Daryl left the little yellow house.





	Right Here, Trying

A split second. A breath. She’d stomped to the door, ready to flay alive whichever one of Ezekiel’s intruding minions stood on the other side, and in an instant everything changed. 

For a moment she thought her heart had actually stopped. Then she flung herself at the man who stood on her porch, his eyes wary and wounded.

One inadequate excuse and some tears later she finally managed to let go of him, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “Well, now you _have_ to come in, because I need to find something to blow my nose. And maybe wipe off your shoulder a bit.” She dabbed at the damp spot on his shirt with the hem of her sleeve. “Sorry about that.” 

“Little snot ain't gonna melt me.” Daryl followed her inside, glancing around at the home she’d made for herself. (Close behind, like he was worried she would vanish in the few steps from the porch to her living room.) “Nice place you got here.” 

“What, this old shack?” It smelled musty, despite her attempts to air the place out; it had sat empty for too long, and the damp from the cellar had permeated the furniture. Still, it felt more like home than the house in Alexandria had. Places were funny like that. The showplace they’d occupied had been just another part of her camouflage. It hadn’t touched her to leave it. “Yeah, I guess it is. I’m pretty fond of it, at least.” 

She straightened the knitted throw on the creaky, badly sprung couch and made a grand gesture, offering him her favorite spot. “Sit, I’ll fix us something to eat. That is, if you were planning on staying awhile?”

He snorted in disbelief, his face clearly saying _I can’t believe you even have to ask me such a thing._ “When’d you ever know me to turn down your cooking?”

For the first time in a long while, she smiled. “Well, then, you might as well make yourself comfortable. This is apt to be a bit of a project.”

“You ain’t gotta go to a lot of trouble,” he said. “You know me. I ain’t picky.” He planted himself in one of the stiff, fake Windsor chairs at the table, where he didn’t have a window at his back. 

“I do know you,” Carol murmured. He would be content with a cold can of beans, if that’s what was put in front of him. “But please, let me? I’d like to.” 

It had felt so good, holding him like that, being held, his strong shoulders under her palms, but it was still strange to have him with her again. She almost had to laugh at how restless she was, how she couldn’t stop touching him as she moved around the room: patting his arm, resting her hand on his back as she reached across the table to lay a second set of tableware. She felt his troubled eyes following her every step.

“That Ezekiel,” he finally said. “He come out here often?” 

_Ah._ That was part of his unease. He’d watched from a distance, seen the entourage the King brought to her doorstep. “More often than I’d like,” she admitted. “He seems to feel I’m under his protection, even though I’m not one of his ‘subjects.’ Between him and Morgan, they’ve been driving me a bit crazy.” She flicked a fingernail against the pan on the table. “Fresh cobbler, for pete’s sake. I’ve become the weird old lady down the street that they have to keep an eye on.” She was chattering like a magpie. It had been so long since she'd spoken more than a few words to anyone, she felt like she might never be able to shut up. “I’ll be honest, having someone show up with food every week or so makes my life a lot easier, but then where do I draw the line? They’d be out here every other day if I let them. And don’t you dare breathe a word that I said anything nice about them.”

Daryl muffled a tiny smile behind his hand. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Carol narrowed her eyes at him, trying to keep her own mouth from breaking into a grin. “You better not be making fun of me.” It was almost as though they’d never been parted. As if the distance between them hadn’t started well before she left Alexandria’s walls. 

That was a lie. It was better, but not the way they once were. Maybe would never be again. Another loss to chalk up to this hellscape they lived in. It nearly broke her heart.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him but didn’t.  
_\--God I’ve missed you._  
_\--Your hair has gotten truly awful, I don’t suppose you’d let me--_  
_\--I have to keep my distance. Can’t find myself caring what happens to them. It’s hard. That’s not who I am. But you know that already._  
_\--I sleep better here than I would ever have expected to. You look like you’ve had a rough time lately, yourself. Are you okay?_

No. He wasn’t. His hollow cheeks and the bandage that showed from beneath his shirt front told her that much. But she wouldn’t pry.

There was one question she couldn’t stand not to ask: whether the confrontation with the Saviors had come, the way she'd expected. Whether her family had survived.

His silence said too much. Eventually he squeezed out a weak explanation, but the endless stretch of quiet before he’d answered-- She could still read him. Maybe not the details, but the tells were there. How he cleared his throat and chewed the inside of his lip, acted like he hadn’t heard her the first time she asked. 

Anyone else who tried to pad things for her, keep her from the truth, the way she knew he was doing, and she wouldn’t have tolerated it. He was different. 

He had always been different. 

For now, she allowed herself to believe the lie. Tonight all she wanted was to sit in the firelight and watch him gorge himself on campfire stew and cobbler. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face reality. 

He still ate like a starving teenager, sloppy and totally focused. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop _smiling_ , so much her cheeks hurt. She’d never realized that those muscles could get tired from overuse, but she supposed it had been too long since they’d gotten this much of a workout.

He ran his thumb around the rim of the bowl to get the last of the gravy, popping it into his mouth to suck it clean. She followed the motion with her eyes and thought about how long it had been since she’d been loved. How the right time never seemed to come.

She stacked their dishes and carried them to the sink, instinctively moving aside to let him through with the bucket of well water. Afterward he carried the kettle into the little bathroom and used the last of the lukewarm rinse water to wash up while she put the clean dishes back in the cupboard. And she wanted nothing more than to keep him there with her, every day, every night, within reach.

By the time they were done the last of the light had left the sky, and he hovered in the kitchen doorway while she poked the fire up. “I’m going back to Hilltop in the morning,” he said. “Got things to do. Ain’t no use, me trying to play diplomat here. Don’t know what Rick was thinking.” 

“Oh.” It took her a moment to get her breath back. “I--I should have thought.” It had been in her mind that he’d be right down the road, safe for now behind the shield of Ezekiel’s truce. But that had never been his way, to hide while others took the risks.

“You could come with?” 

Something inside her took wing. _Yes_ , she wanted to say, _let’s go home_ , wherever that was these days. But the things that sent her running from Alexandria were still out there. Her ghosts still followed her. _Or you could stay with me._ It was on the tip of her tongue to say it, to use whatever leverage she had to keep him from harm. 

He saw the uncertainty in her face and shook his head. “I get it.” He bent to retrieve his pack, shrugged it over one shoulder and opened the door. 

“You don’t have to go right this minute.” She was sick of partings.

The pack dropped to the floor, but he didn’t move. “What, we gonna play cards? Watch a little TV?” 

It wasn’t as if she could keep him forever, in her little yellow hideaway.

_Now or never._

She moved slowly, and his eyes turned cautious as she closed the gap between them and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, her palms flat against his chest as she breathed him in. “Stay with me tonight,” she said quietly. His hands crept up her back, cradling her like she was glass.

“On the couch?” he asked, his voice gone hoarse.

She turned her head and looked up into his beloved face, creased with doubt and hope. “In my bed. If you’ll have me.”

He nodded, his throat working over unspoken words. 

He carried the lantern as he followed her back the hall to the tiny room where she slept, most of the space occupied by the old-fashioned white iron bed. She felt his eyes as she shed her clothes in silence, draping them over the chair and the footboard. The shaming voices in her head rose, and she could feel the color rise in her cheeks as well as she fought not to let them drown her. 

When she was down to her underwear, she crossed to where he still stood at the edge of the oval rug, trying to look anywhere but directly at her body. “Come to bed, Daryl. There’s no one here but us.” 

She could hear his breath run faster as she took his hand, drawing him to the bedside. He hesitated, muttered under his breath, and she found herself smiling again. “Do you want me to shut my eyes? Turn my back?” 

Daryl choked out a laugh and finally began to unbutton his shirt. “Never figured to be getting naked with you tonight, is all. You sure?”

_Sure as I can be of anything_ , she thought. “Of this? Absolutely,” she said, and reached to brush his hands aside and finish the job. She slipped her hands under the fabric, feeling his belly ripple as he sucked in a breath. Her fingers slid down and found his belt. “May I?” she asked, peeking up through her lashes. 

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, but a second later he caught her hands in his. “Wait. Let me get rid of my boots first.” They both sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers fumbling with his bootlaces as his eyes traced the line of her bare leg, and then the boots were forgotten as his hand followed, warm and callused along her thigh. His careful, reverent touch sent a giddy rush through her, and she tumbled backward, pulling him down with her, finding his mouth, laughing with the awkward joy of it. 

He was breathless when he pulled away and sat up. “Slow down there, I need a minute.” 

“Of course,” she said, touching her fingers to her tingling lips. She watched the lean stretch of his back, the flex of old tattoos and older scars, and let him find his own way.

This time the boots thumped to the floor, followed by his pants. 

When he came back to her he took his time, discovering all the soft places that made her shiver. 

Lips against her throat, his thigh hard against her, her breast in his palm, her nails involuntarily digging into his bicep. “Ow,” he complained, making her chuckle. 

“Tough guy,” she teased. 

“Forgot you was part cat,” he said, and slid down to bury his face in her stomach. 

The room was gray with moonshadows as he rose over her and she welcomed him in, fitting him to her. Seeking a rhythm and finding it, losing it again, separating and coming back together and laughing and urging each other on, higher, _God, yes, there,_ until at last they fell back on the bed, limp with pleasure long-denied.

They lay together, not talking, her head in the crook of his shoulder. She smoothed down the dressing on the other side where the tape was coming loose. She would need to change that before he left.

_Before she let him go._ “You should sleep,” she said. “If you’re going back in the morning--”

He shifted and dragged his fingers through the curls over her temple. “You’ll still be here?” 

“Of course,” she said, and remembered he had cause to ask. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

“Stay safe for me. Promise me that. Keep low, and don’t let that king drag you into something that ain’t your fight.”

She pressed her face against his ribs and shook her head. “Could you stay out of it if I asked you the same? Be honest.” She didn’t need to look at him to know his expression. “You can’t ask me to let someone else do my fighting for me, Daryl. You wouldn’t, so don’t expect me to.” She pushed herself up to look down into his face. “You taught me to take care of myself. You helped me learn how strong I could be. And now I’m going to do what I can to help beat the people who hurt my family.” He opened his mouth to protest, and she kissed him, hard. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.” 

“You didn’t need to know,” he said. “I didn’t want to lie, but--”

“I don’t,” she agreed. “Sometime I’m sure I’ll learn the truth, but not right now. Not tonight. And tomorrow you’ll go do what you have to do out there, and I’ll do what I have to do here, and when it’s all said and done we’ll talk about where we go from here.” He was silent, and she took it as a surrender, if not agreement.  
* * * * *  
Before the sun rose she walked Daryl to the door, held him in her arms one more time, and watched him go. She bit the inside of her cheek firmly to keep from calling him back, from taking back all her bold words about the roles they had to play, from saying whatever she had to to keep him safe. _He has his path to walk, as I do mine._ She touched the tender skin of the mark he’d left on her collarbone, and smiled a secret smile.


End file.
